


(Seven) seasons

by Beibiter



Category: GOT7, Kpop - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Slice of Life, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beibiter/pseuds/Beibiter
Summary: Reader's university life including seven very different boys and an overbearing mother.





	1. Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> Block b is not in this story but i couldnt resist using this pun lol dont worry i have this entire story mapped out in my notebook so i will write a second chapter(i promise as i try to ignore the 10000000 other stories that i wanted to complete)

Farewell summer. That's what you think when you see the yellow and orange and red leaves adorning the trees on your university campus.

But only a little after they've changed their color, they begin to fall.

The ephemeral beauty, the pretty sight that only lasts for a few days tells you that a new season has set in.

When your lecture ends, Jackson is there to pick you up with his car. It's a dingy junker (you're surprised he can still drive with it) and the insides always covered with a thin blanket of dust because he never bothers cleaning it.

"Are you hungry?", he asks. His hands are holding the wheel, but his lips are curling upwards. You're hungry most of the time, especially after lectures (they always seem to exhaust you) and Jackson has long picked up on that.

"I bought you a sandwich. It's on the backseat."

You turn around ans without fail, there's a chicken sandwich. You eat it contently, certain that the vegetarian food your mother wanted to make would turn out to taste as bad as always.

"Do you want a bite?", you ask, dangling it before his eyes.

He still concentrates on the road and shakes his head. 

"I just ate something", he says with a slight smile. "I still don't trust your mom's cooking."

***

When you arrive, Jackson gets out the car and looks at you for the first time. You observe him in return: black hair, matching snapback and earrings. 

He also has violet shadows under his eyes. You hadn't noticed them before.

"Are you ok?", you ask, stepping closer.

He just smiles and pulls you toward the door.

A few seconds after you ring the bell your mother appears like she had been waiting right behind it (and that's probably the case). Her sleeves are rolled up and everything from her face to her attire screams exhaustion.

"It's good that you're here", she sighs. "I just accidentally burned the zucchini and we might have to buy a new frying pan as well..."

 

***

After you've returned to the house, you both offer your help. Your mother had declined.

Jackson had removed his snapback out of politeness and was now sitting on the grey sofa. 

"How was uni today?", you ask, trying to make smalltalk. 

Jackson attends the same university, but completely different courses. You're lucky that your schedules overlap at least once a week, conveniently allowing you to get lunch together.

"Good", he says, looking at you.

He then asks about your day, but you're too tired to answer, deciding to use his arm as a pillow and sleep a bit instead.

You wake up a bit later with a real pillow underneath your head. The table is set and your mom is already seated.

"How's your family doing?", you hear her asking.

Although you're still sleepy, you get up and move to the table.

"Why didn't you wake me up?", you ask loudly and only then does she look at you. The zucchini on her plate looks unappetizing.

"You looked like you needed the sleep", she says, adding a reproachful glance. "I hope you're not out partying. You'll never find a proper boyfriend that way."

You roll your eyes. Your mother knows you good enough to be aware of the fact that you usually don't like parties (and that you're not looking for a boyfriend). 

Really, people at parties are too loud and apart from the few ones who are really funny when they're drunk, the majority of your peers is just incredibly loud and annoying when they're hammered and you'd rather avoid their company.

Sighing, you head to the bathroom to wash your hands. When you look in the mirror to fix your hair, you notice your tired eyes and instantly think back to Jackson.

He has been in Korea for many years now(longer than you can count), but the topic of his family is still a sore one. 

While he's in Korea for his studies, they're all back in Hongkong. He tries to visit them whenever he has the time, but with the added workload of his professors this semester, it's been really hard.

You sigh before leaving the sickly white-tiled bathroom, promising to yourself that you'd try to cheer him up.

***

"Let's go partying next weekend."

Jackson looks at you, squinting. "Are you that bored?", he asks.

You just shrug and try to give him a nonchalant glance. 

"It's just that I have my last exam that day", you say, convincing yourself that it's not a complete lie: You do have your last exam next Friday (god bless), but usually you wouldn't take this occasion as a reason to go to a sweaty, stinking club.

"I just want to", you mutter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really dislike the way i write but i love the story that i have come up with. As long as im not able to execute this story I wont write it which essentially means that im abandoning this story;; im sorry

When Bambam confesses to you, you're shocked. Shocked and also flattered, because you wouldn't have thought in a million years that the handsome Thai exchange student would like you.

He looks sincere and earnest while saying it, making you blush and nearly lose the hold on the sodas that you had just gotten from the vending machine.

"Bambam", you begin, but your voice is suddenly hoarse and you cough a little.

Truthfully, in school you had always had the reputation of being a scaredy-cat, a nerd and a tattletale, unfortunately and unjustly and so when most of your peers received their first love-letters, their billet-doux saying "Go out with me. Yes. No. Maybe." you just sat there, staring at them with curiosity and envy.

Now, you are the one at the receiving end of a confession. It doesn't feel as good as you thought it would have. Rather, you feel a bit burdened.

"I'm sorry", you say, looking at him. Suddenly, the can feels strangely cold in your hand.

"It's okay", Bambam says and you almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation: you're not the one getting rejected, yet you're feeling sad.

He looks at you and now that he has told you about his feelings, you can see it: His warm eyes, that are now filled with disappointment.

It makes you feel even worse.

"You don't have to feel bad", Bambam says, still trying to comfort you. "I just wanted to get it off my chest."

You grab his hand, it's warm and soft and place the soda in it. It's sweet and sugary, your and Jackson's favorite. You can't give Bambam your heart, this is the least you can do.

***

"Mom, I'm not going on a blind date-"

Your mom cuts you off and you can imagine the sour expression she must be wearing. 

"You're not getting any younger, you know", she remarks. 

It stings a bit. Of course, you're not a young rosy-cheeked teenager anymore, but you're far from being old.

"Mom", you sigh.

When she called you this morning you considered ignoring your phone. 

The final exam's just a few days away and since the thing with Bambam you hadn't come around to studying and now that your mother was bringing up dates, you couldn't help thinking back to the boy. Rejecting him still gnaws at your soul.

"It's a fine young gentleman", your mom says, trying to bait you. 

"Mom-", you interject. "I'm really not interested."

And then you hang up.

***

It's Sunday. D-day. You're going partying today, clubbing with a group of friends (though if anything they are more like acquaintances).

As you're carefully drawing on your coal-black eyeliner, Jackson lingers on your bed, occasionally marveling at your handicraft.

When you're finally done, you grab your jacket and Jackson stands up.

"Do you really want to go?" He looks at you, trying to find a hint of confidence or reassurance that you wouldn't back out.

You have two left feet whereas Jackson is really skilled at dancing. He'd sometimes ask you to accompany him to parties, but you either faked sick or flat out refused. It just wasn't your scene. And after you apologized to Jackson for acting like a brat, you would watch Detective Conan together.

 

You put on a smile, a really convincing one and look at him. He's wearing his black snapback again and you have to admit that he looks especially good tonight in an all-black ensemble.

 

"It's fine."

***

When you arrive though you want to reconsider your life choices. It's hot and stuffy (making you feel antsy) and also Bambam's there, already a bit red from drinking too much.

When he sees you, he gives you a pained smile. You gulp.

He looks handsome with his light brown hair and you can already see girls eyeing him from afar.

Hesitantly, you take a step toward him, when you feel Jackson grabbing your hand. You look at him questioningly.

"I don't want to lose you", he mouths and his face is so close that you can feel his warm breath. He smells like mints.

The two of you head to your friends: Apart from Bambam there's Mark, Wonpil, Jae, Sungjin, as well as Yerin. You also spot some seniors that occasionally hang out with you and your friends, they're accompanied by a few girls that you have seen at university before.

You greet all of them and give them a polite smile and they smile back, then go back to downing their drinks in record time and getting ready to go to the dance floor. 

"Do you want to go dance?", Jackson asks. A shiver runs down your spine due to him being so close and you tear your hand away from his.

"I'll just sit down for a while!", you try to yell, but your voice cracks. Im frustration you blow against your fringe and motion to where your group was sitting, taking a step backwards.

Immediately, he follows you, but you give him a slight, gentle push.

"Just go dance", you mouth encouragingly, not wanting him to be left behind while all of your friends are having fun. "I'll join in a few!"

After a bit of convincing, he finally lets you sit down. As you sink into the seat you can feel someone staring at you.

You don't lift your head though, fearing that it's Bambam with his bright eyes and sad smile.

Instead, you play with the drink that Jackson had gotten you. Something sweet, less potent than the other beverages served in this club.

Still bothered by the staring, you turn to look at Jackson instead. The minute he began to dance, it was like he entered another realm, a dimension in which only he existed. 

His eyes are closed in pure bliss as his body moves rhythmically. You doubt that anyone else can dance as well as him.

When someone next to you hiccups, you break out of your trance and look beside you. 

Bambam's who you had assumed to have joined the others dancing, has his head lying on the table, his hair all messed up, while a girl who walks by looks at his state with unconcealed disgust.

You glare at her and then nudge Bambam. When he doesn't react, you gently try to prop up his head, silently cursing his low tolerance for alcohol. 

It was typical of Bambam to act a bit irresponsibly. And it was also typical of you to take care of him. 

Sighing, you help him up while he staggers dangerously close to you. He smells like a mix of his cologne and alcohol.

You swiftly glance around you to see if any of your friends had returned or noticed what had happened, but apparently they had all left for the dance floor and not come back.

Then a voice cuts through the noise.

"You can't carry him out by yourself."

A sharp voice and scarlet-red hair. Mark. You turn to him, still stabilizing Bambam with your other arm and look at him defiantly.

Defiant, because there's just something about Mark that bugs you. Maybe it's his attitude that rubs you the wrong way or the fact that he always seems to reserve a disparaging comment for you.

This time he's right though. You have a rather small frame (not to mention you're physically weak) and unless you want Bambam to end up lying on the cold tarmac with bone fractures, it would be wiser to get another person to help. 

"Are you going to help me then?", you ask, stressing the you. Mark doesn't move though and you blow against your fringe in frustration.

You really don't know what Jackson likes about him.


End file.
